


history will be made

by swedishstylepatrol



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Hockey Players, Injury, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor character suicide, non-linear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9838007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swedishstylepatrol/pseuds/swedishstylepatrol
Summary: Arthur Pendragon #3LW | 6' 0" | 200 lb | Camelot KnightsMerlin Emrys #86C | 6' 0" | 190 lb | Camelot Knights





	1. History Makes Amends

Merlin has the word WILL sewn into his gloves. The first time Arthur sees them is when he has to pick up Merlin’s gloves after he’s thrown them off trying to get into a fight. At first Arthur doesn’t think anything of it, doesn’t think it means anything beyond conviction. After all, Arthur has the word COURAGE written on the tape of every one of his sticks, and Gwaine has the word STRENGTH painted on the back of his goalie mask. 

The inscription means nothing to Arthur. 

Until a game late December changes his perspective. 

Merlin is on fire out on the ice. He’s putting up shot after shot, miss after disappointing miss. Merlin’s frustration is obvious and for a game that’s irrelevant in the bigger scheme of things, Arthur has to wonder why Merlin is beating himself up for everything he thinks he does wrong. The game is tied at zero when regulation ends. The locker room is not silent when they go in during the intermission. Gwaine is asking Percy what his Christmas plans are. Elyan is telling Mordred that his sister is flying in for the holidays. But amidst the jovial ruckus that’s going on, Arthur notices Merlin’s silence. Merlin is apprehensively wringing his hands, jittery where he sits beside Arthur. 

Arthur grabs Merlin’s hands, covers his shaking fingers with a comforting grip. Merlin’s hands are warm and beautiful and have scored the most glorious goals that Arthur’s ever witnessed. 

“Merls, relax,” Arthur whispers and looks at Merlin. 

“Just need a goal,” Merlin tells him, and then his hands stop. 

Arthur smiles, “Yeah, just one goal to win the game, that’s it.”

But that’s not it though, Arthur figures, because Merlin doesn’t smile back at him. Instead, Merlin sends Arthur a look and then Merlin bends his head, looks down.

“I need a goal for Will,” Merlin mutters and then, oh, Arthur gets it. Will, this is for Will. For Will who taught Merlin how to body check any asshole who’s got the gall to make fun of Merlin’s ears, or call him a fag. For Will who took ten penalties a game for every time someone even looked at Merlin the wrong way, every time someone tried to hurt Merlin for the way he is. For Will who introduced hockey to Merlin, and in doing so, introduced Merlin to Arthur. For Will who got a career-ending concussion from a really bad hit. For Will who ended his life too soon because he didn’t know anything else aside from the game that was taken away from him.

Merlin wants a goal for Will, he badly needs a goal for Will.

He has to thank Will, and say sorry to him. And has to send Will this message: that he’s always in Merlin’s mind, and has a permanent place in Merlin’s heart.

Arthur understands this. This is what he does for his mother, too. 

The Knights win in overtime, the game winning slap shot coming from Merlin’s stick. He scores top shelf from a pass from Arthur. After the goal, Arthur finally knows why the word WILL is etched on Merlin’s gloves. 

Will is dedication and passion and friendship. Will is Merlin’s way of paying tribute to his fallen friend who died two days before Christmas. 

“I have to score for him, the last game before Christmas, always,” is Merlin’s explanation for his performance, for his perseverance to score. 

Arthur picks up the game puck, writes the date on it, writes WILL on it and kisses Merlin at centre ice as he hands him the puck. 

And next year, when Merlin is in the press box on the day he’s supposed to score a goal for Will, Arthur completes a natural hat trick: a goal for Merlin as he watches the game; a goal for his mother as is wont; and the last one for Will, to say thank you, and to ask for his blessing. 

While the hats rain down on the surface of the ice, Arthur points a finger at the direction of the press box, makes a fist over his heart, kisses his glove, and then points up to the sky.


	2. History Believes in Firsts

The first time Arthur plays with Merlin, he calls him a fucking idiot. And it should serve Merlin right for missing Arthur’s pass, and then letting the puck get on the opponent’s stick and for letting the other team score on their giveaway. But Merlin shouts right back at Arthur’s face. He pushes Arthur, backs him up against his locker and spits the same derogatory words back at Arthur. 

“You’re an asshole,” Merlin says as he walks away from where Arthur is still trying to come up with shit to shout back at Merlin. But Arthur comes up empty. Instead, he takes a moment to himself, and like the good captain he’s supposed to be, he shifts the blame away from his teammate and berates himself. Because he missed Merlin’s stick. And he didn’t get back in time to block the puck, or stop the shot. Because it’s his fault as much as anyone on the ice at that time. 

The first time Arthur plays with Merlin is also the first time he’s ever called himself an asshole. 

The next time they play together on the same line, Arthur scores a beautiful backhander because Merlin hustles to get him the puck. Arthur suddenly realizes what great chemistry they actually have. He realizes how great Merlin is at hockey. How much greater Arthur is when he plays with Merlin.

They get in the playoffs for the first time in twelve years the first season Merlin plays with the Knights.

Arthur is drunk the first time he kisses Merlin. And he feels like shit about it because he wants it to mean something other than a drunken kiss. He wants it to mean that he wants Merlin, that he likes him, that he wants to be with him. 

And although they play beautifully together, there’s something off about the way Merlin treats Arthur outside of the rink. They don’t talk as much as they used to. Merlin doesn’t answer any of Arthur random texts that he usually responds to with an equally stupid thing. 

Arthur thinks he’s lost his best friend. 

Arthur cries for the first time since he was a boy. And he does it dramatically and like he’s in the teenage angst phase. But none of it yields anything. Two weeks go by and Merlin still isn’t hanging out with him. Three weeks go by and Arthur’s game starts going to shit when Merlin isn’t right there beside him on the ice. It’s premature and stupid and unprofessional of him. 

His father benches him for the first time in his career. Uther tells him that he’s scratched for reasons he isn’t going to explore but he wants Arthur to grind up and chew and swallow whatever beef he’s got with himself before it goes so bad he can’t recover. When the game is over (they lose without Arthur) Arthur sits by his stall after everyone else has changed and gone home. He’s twisting the ring on his thumb when Merlin clears his throat. 

“Hey,” Arthur says, suddenly he has no idea what to do with his hands. But Merlin remedies that for him when he strides over to Arthur and takes Arthur’s hands in his. 

“We sucked tonight,” Merlin says, and doesn’t Arthur know it.

“We’ve been sucking for a while.”

Merlin looks at Arthur, “Ever since the night we…”

Arthur hangs his head, “Shit.”

“Was it that bad kissing me? Was it because you were drunk?” Merlin asks and Arthur is aware of how warm it is where their hands are intertwined. Arthur can’t fucking let this go, can’t let Merlin go.

“Fuck yeah, it was because I was drunk. I didn’t want to be drunk the first time I kiss you.”

“Shit,” Merlin sighs. “I’m kind of gone for you, prat. Didn’t really matter if you were drunk or not. I just want to do it again.”

Arthur fucking laughs then and there. He throws his head back and his chest rises and falls. Merlin’s lips are as great as he remembers, even better actually. 

Arthur’s back on the ice the next day. Everyone on their line scores a goal and Gwaine gets a shut-out.

Arthur grabs Merlin’s helmet from his head and kisses him where his teammates can see, where his father can see, where their fans can see. The crowd cheers when they break off. And it feels fucking great. 

The first time they win the Cup, Arthur does the same thing again, except he gets down on his knee too.


	3. History Follows the Leader

“A trade?!” Arthur exclaims at Agravaine Du Bois. 

“Arthur,” his father admonishes him, arms crossed. Arthur stares at his father defiantly and then turns back to face Agravaine. 

“Yes, Arthur. We’re trading him.”

“You can’t trade Merlin.” Agravaine shrugs. “Why not?”

Arthur clenches his hands and tightens his jaw. “This team needs him. You can’t trade him.”

“He’s injured, Arthur. And as we push for the playoffs we need someone healthy.”

“He will be healthy. Just two more weeks.”

Agravaine shakes his head, “We can’t afford two more weeks.”

“I promise you, Uncle, you’re not going to find anyone else with as much heart as Merlin. Or speed. Or anything.”

Agravaine isn’t buying into Arthur’ s defence. “But there’s you. You’re fast and you’re good.”

“I can’t carry this team on my back by myself. I need —

Agravaine raises his hand to stop Arthur mid-sentence. “You need an enforcer. Valiant is a free agent. We can sign him by the deadline but the cap…We’ll go over the cap if I don’t trade someone.”

“Then trade me too,” Arthur says, and this time, he’s the one with his arms crossed. He knows the Knights can’t afford to let him go, because it’s not as if Arthur takes up any more cap space than he needs; he doesn’t care about the money, he loves the game too much to lose it to greed. But he’s not going to play without Merlin, or play with the likes of Valiant. That brute who ended Ewan’s career with a concussing check to his head. Without thinking, and without regret, Arthur walks out of the room.

The first person he sees is Gwaine, half naked in compression shorts and nothing else. He’s eating a pizza and Arthur shakes his head, can’t help but laugh. 

“What’s up?” Gwaine asks around the piece of cheesy pizza in his mouth.

“They’re going to trade Merlin.” And then Gwaine chokes on his pizza.

“What? What the fuck?”

“Du Bois says he’s too injured to help us get into the playoffs. He’s thinking of bringing in Valiant.”

“No. Fuck that asshole. I’m not fucking playing with him.”

“That’s what I told him, and my father. If they trade Merlin, I’m gone too.”

“Jesus, Arthur.” Gwaine says, gravely. “Well,” he shrugs, “I’m not playing either then.” 

“Gwaine,” Arthur starts, ready to reprimand but Gwaine’s convictions are immutable. “Thanks.”

Gwaine stands on his tip-toes, “Oh Captain, my Captain.”

The next day, Arthur and Merlin sit on the couch in Arthur’s apartment, waiting for matching phone calls. Arthur has his head rested on Merlin’s shoulder and his legs tucked under him. Merlin’s right leg is propped up on the pillows piled on the coffee table in front of him. He’s allowed to skate in a week.

“We should quit and just play for the national team.” Arthur suggests in their silence. Merlin runs a hand through Arthur’s blonde hair.

“And play for Coach Aredian? No way. He hates me.”

Arthur laughs, “He’s not that bad.”

“He didn’t make you bag skate after every game, win or not.”

“Did he really? Man, I feel bad for the farm team.”

Merlin laughs and then he sighs, “That’s probably where I’m going to end up, anyway. Fucking leg.”

“Hey,” Arthur says, his hand finding the one on Merlin’s lap that’s clutching his phone. “I bet if we play in the farm we’d break every damn record there.”

“You’re too good for the farm, Arthur.”

Arthur snorts, “So are you. I’ll follow you wherever you go, you know. Ealdor, Escetir, wherever the fuck they trade you. The pros, the minors, as long as we play together.”

Merlin puts his head on top of Arthur’s. “Why are you suddenly so cheesy right now? What’s with all this you jump I jump stuff, huh?”

Arthur shrugs, “I’m dispelling the stereotype in which jocks can’t be romantic?” Merlin doesn’t buy it.

“Come on. What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to lose you.”

Fondly, Merlin says, “You’re dumb. I fucking love you.”

Arthur’s phone rings before he can say it back which brings them to a silence again. They’re nervous wrecks before Arthur sees who’s actually calling him. “Gwaine? The hell?” He answers it, warily.

“You have to come to the head office, man. GM’s being hounded by the press about you and Merlin. Shit. Turn on Sportscentre. ” Gwaine is shouting in his ears through the phone. When he hangs up, Arthur grabs the remote beside him and turns on the TV. And because they have no lives, it’s already conveniently on the channel they need.

There are about ten microphones shoved at Agravaine Du Bois’ face. 

“Is it true you’re trading Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon because of their sexuality and their relationship.” And holy fucking shit, Arthur did not expect that. Gwen Smith is Arthur’s favourite sports reporter; she’s always so frank and doesn’t take no for an answer. She’s a vanguard. And she’s one hell of a goalie too. Arthur could never score on her, but that’s their little community league secret.

“This trade has nothing to do with anything but their games. We’ve been losing more than we’ve been winning. We want to get into the playoffs, we want that Cup.” Agravaine answers; he thinks he’s so politically correct.

“So you’re saying the first and third scoring leaders in the league are getting traded because of their lack of —what exactly?” She asks him, subtly shoves the mic closer to his face. Arthur cackles. 

“Well…Emrys is injured. There’s no telling whether he’ll come back as good as he was.”

“You have no faith at all in your players, then?”

“Miss Smith, faith rarely wins championships.”

And he thinks he’s got her when Gwen jabs back at him, “With all due respect, Mr. Du Bois. The Camelot Knights banner clearly says: Vires. Virtus. Mores. Fides. I’ll just translate that for you. It says Strength. Courage. Character. Faith.”

“This is a business, Miss Smith. Honour doesn’t pay the bills. Skills and talent do. What those boys do in their free time is their business.”

“But it didn’t happen in their free time, did it? The kiss on the ice nearly two months ago? It happened on national TV and you decided the team couldn’t handle the press and the stigma and everything else that comes with it.”

“It was unprofessional!” Agravaine shouts and no one else speaks. But the cameras shutter like they’re going to break and Gwen presses on, unrelenting.

“It was a goal celebration.”

“It was unprofessional, and unnecessary. And that’s all I have to say about that.”

Agravaine is followed by his entourage out of the building and into his car. Gwen smiles at the camera. Arthur gets the message clear as a diamond. He texts her right after to thank her. She replies by telling him to thank Morgana for her ruthless managing in the conference room. Arthur’s never been happier having his sister as his agent. She’ll fight tooth and nail for him and Merlin, he knows.

“Holy shit,” Merlin mutters beside him. 

“That was…”

“Your uncle’s a dick. Are we still getting traded or not?”

They look at each other and then Merlin’s phone rings this time. He sucks in a breath when he sees the caller ID. “Hello? Yeah? Yeah. No, that’s…I’m with him right now. Yes, sir. It’s not a big deal, sir. Yeah. I’ll tell him. Thank you, sir.”

“Who was that?”

Merlin’s eyes are wide, “McDrake. He’s firing your uncle as GM. And he says that he’s going to act as GM while they put up the ‘We’re Hiring’ sign.”

“We’re still Knights.” Arthur sighs, relieved. And then he tilts his head up to kiss Merlin. “I love you too by the way. And I can’t wait to have you back on the ice with me.”

“You’re getting soft, Pendragon.”

Arthur winks, “I know exactly what to do to remedy that softness.” And then he carries Merlin into their bedroom, bridal style. He carefully puts him down on the bed and follows him under the covers.


	4. History Becomes a Household Name

_Age of Dragons_  
  
_by Guinevere Smith_

 _July 30, 2013_  
  
_If you scour the internet for it, there is a video of four year old Arthur Pendragon playing hockey with his mother. The video is only ten seconds long but it is enough for die hard Pendragon fans. In it, Arthur scores against his mother, renowned Olympic gold medallist, Ygraine Pendragon, and rejoices his goal. He is then presented with the very first jersey to have his name on it. It's a miniscule version of her own Team Albion jersey. The very same jersey is framed and hung in the foyer of the Pendragon's house._  
  
_Two days before the Albion Hockey League 2013 Draft, I had the pleasure of visiting the Pendragon's house. There is nothing that suggests it is anything but a home. The wallpaper is hidden behind innumerable picture frames immortalizing eighteen years of Arthur's life and the six years of his parents' marriage before he was born, but there is one photograph worth a second look, and it's not on the walls of the hallways but sitting comfortably on Arthur's bedside table. It is a picture of his mother, gold medal around her neck, the Albion flag rendered as a cape, holding a three year old Arthur centre ice in the olympic rink at Nagano. Ygraine Pendragon had secured the gold for Team Albion only minutes before._  
  
_"Every time I look at this picture, I swear she was an angel," Arthur says, when I asked him about his most prized possession._  
  
_A quick but detailed tour of his childhood home reveals that Arthur spends most of his time in the basement, outfitted to look like target practice. His second most favourite place is the drawing room where I learned that Arthur is a man of many talents. Several paintings hang on the wall, and a few more are laid against the wall. He says this is where he finds peace before the hectic demands of hockey bring him back to reality._  
  
_"She taught me everything," he says. "Life, hockey, arts, love, she taught me everything she knew." He sat me down in the living room sofa and handed me a cup of hot chocolate. For himself, a bottle of Gatorade._  
  
_"When she found out she was dying, four years ago, she started amping up her life lessons with me. She'd always give me advice, every day, she's say 'there's no I in hockey' or 'everyone out there is still learning just like you are'. It was around that time that I started dating too, you know junior high, and she'd always make me bring them flowers or something. She always insisted that she meet them. When I was 16, there was this really important tournament, but it was four days long and half the world away, and she wasn't getting any better. I didn't want to leave her but the tournament was really important too, you know. Everyone kept saying scouts were going to be there. I remember crying, and I felt like such a loser crying to her. I was 16 already. And she just held me and said 'Go, I'll be here when you get back.' She never broke promises and I believed her. So I went --"_  
  
_He scored only one goal that weekend, his team losing in the final._  
  
_"I came home and cried but she was so happy for me. She was always proud of me, even when I didn't do so well. Especially on those bad days. Because she understood what I was going through. She said 'This weekend, you played for me. I want you always to play for yourself.'"_  
  
_Three days before the start of Arthur's first year as a Tintagel Phoenix, Ygraine Pendragon passed away. She was a legend. And the legacy she left behind was paving his own way to glory._  
  
_There is no doubt that Arthur will be the first pick of the draft._  
  
_And even if he isn't, there is no doubt that Ygraine, rest her soul, will be proud of him._  
  
  
 "And with the first pick of the draft, the Camelot Knights proudly select, Arthur Pendragon." Arthur walks up to the stage, almost in tears as his father hands him a Knights jersey. His father's heavy calloused hand clasps his shoulder.

Leaning in, Uther says, "You know she's proud of you. I am too." Arthur knows, it's the very last thing she said to him. But he's glad that his father is here too, helping him with his future. 

When all the pictures have been taken, and when he's talked to all the important people, Arthur finally finds a moment to himself, sitting in an empty office. 

"You're the best thing that ever happened to her, you know. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were growing up. I'm sorry I wasn't there when she died."

Arthur swivels the chair around so that he's facing his father. There are tear tracks on his father's usually stoic face. Arthur reaches into his pocket, the gold ring is warm now from being clutched in his palm. 

"She raised me." He uncurls his fist to show his father. "She kept it all these years, to give to me. For me to give to someone else. Or to remind me of you. She never explained it really."

"I know it was hard for you --"

"It wasn't though. She raised me well. She was always there for me. But I missed you too."

Uther walks closer but not too close. "I wanted you to play for me. Ever since you were young, she knew you would be great. I'm happy we got you."

Arthur stands up, pockets the ring, and sniffs. "Thanks, coach," he says nonchalantly as he leaves the room.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> his parents divorced when he was born (for reasons) he lived with his mom and uther is the knights coach


	5. History Doesn't Let History Repeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: mental illness, depression, suicide, self-harm, addiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics is gwen's article  
> bold is sports commentary
> 
> also, im gonna warn for non-linear and dialogue heavy

 

_Legends Never Die_

_by Gwen Smith_

  _September 28, 2017_

_The thing about invincibility is that it doesn't exist._

_It might, for two, three seconds, for half a moment, exist. But sooner or later, the brutality of hockey always reminds its players that none of them are invincible, untouchable._ _Avalon Cup Champion._ _Newly wed._ _Soon-to-be father._ _The thing about having it all is that it seems too good to be true._

_That was especially true for former Camelot defenseman, Balinor Emrys._

_You wouldn't know his name unless you went through the club's history with a fine toothed comb. I almost never would have known his story if it wasn't for my father, a die hard Knights fan._

_When Merlin Emrys got drafted to the Camelot Knights in the sixth round of the draft four years ago, I was among those who did not cover his story, because I thought him irrelevant in the face of a then-much bigger story: the Pendragon legacy._  

_For that, I apologize, because here was Merlin Emrys, Knights royalty, getting drafted to the team his father played for 18 years ago, playing the game his father died for 18 years ago._

 

* * *

 

 

**"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Hockey Night, this is the 1995 Avalon Cup finals.  I'm Alice Core and this is Annis Caerleon. Folks on the east coast we're sorry you're up this late but we assure you it's going to be a worthy show. This is the seventh time this round that they've gone to overtime. Seven in seven games.**

**This could go either way.**

**This is how this round has been going the whole time.**

**Just to remind you folks, the Knights came into the playoffs dead last, and now they're here at the finals. That underdog cinderella story is minutes away from becoming reality.**

 

**But let me remind you, Ali, the Western Isles Serpents are defending champions. Rest assured neither of these teams will back down without a fight.**

**The players have returned on the ice. In goal for Camelot, as he has been the whole playoffs, Searle Bedivere. He has only let in three or less goals in every game in the regular season, and two or less in the playoffs.**

**Amazing stats. He's the first French goaltender in the league to post an average of .992 in the regular season. He's the best player in the league right now.**

**You know, it's crazy he's going up against his backup goalie in the French national team, Stephane Bertrand.**

**These guys are gold medallists, world champions, and tonight one of them will add Cup champion to their resume.**

**Before they drop the puck, let's talk about Killian McDrake, so far the most revolutionary coach this league's ever met.**  

**He's old as all hell, but he's got an arsenal of wisdom. Tonight, he put in two rookies.**

**Ann, rookies! An Avalon Cup as your first official AHL game, how many kids can say that? Here we have two: Balinor Emrys and  Cornelius Sigan.**  

**Can you imagine? They've never played in the regular season, not a regular season game and here they are, the starting defense pair for the 8th seeded Camelot Knights in the seventh game of a best of seven series. Unbelievable!**

**We're tied at 2-2 folks, and the puck is about ready to drop for the start of overtime. Get your popcorn. Go pee! We hope it won't be a longer night, but just in case. Buckle in, ladies and gentlemen.**

 

* * *

 

_Let me take you on a journey of discovery, the kind I went through as I was researching this story. Let's start at the beginning. I was writing about three different articles the day the Camelot Knights drafted Arthur Pendragon when my father called to ask if I was writing about any other draftees. Essentially, I said no. I wanted to be the first article that showed up if you wanted an article about Arthur Pendragon. I neglected my two other assignments for his story._

_After Age of Dragons was published two days before the draft, I was already deep in writing the Arthur-Pendragon-First-Round-Draft-Pick article but as I was non-stop clacking on my keyboard at home, my father shut my laptop and pulled me to the living room where he had the sixth round of the draft paused. Sit, he said, and I did, unwittingly of course. Watch, he said, and I did, unimpressed._

_He played it just as Uther Pendragon called Merlin Emrys up to the stage. I watched, unimpressed still and unaware of what was happening. Uther whispers into Merlin Emrys' ear, patting his shoulder. They take a picture and Merlin rushes off stage._

_I looked at my father, questioning his motives. Emrys, he said, do you remember? Not at all, not at first, not until I thought about it._

_I was two years and three months old when my father's favourite hockey team, the Camelot Knights won the Avalon Cup. I was two years and six months old when Balinor Emrys died._

 

* * *

 

"The Avalon fucking Cup!"

"Hunith! Language!" 

Hunith, 18 years old and 32 weeks pregnant couldn't stop the words from rolling off her tongue. The TV was small, but it was right there, her husband, a fucking champion.

She rubbed her belly, smiling, as she felt the kick. This one was going to be feisty she knew. This one was Balinor's kid through and through. 

"Oh honey," her mother said, coming up to embrace her. "He'll be home soon enough." Hunith just wanted him home, to be able to hug him. Everyone's wives were on the ice with them but the flight and the seats to the game were too expensive. She was going to pop soon, and couldn't manage the flight to the other side of the country. So she stayed at home and promised him she would watch, no matter how bad it got.

 

* * *

 

The day Gwen's article comes out, Merlin faces more scrutiny than ever, not from anyone else but from himself. Here he is, the blade of a sharp knife pressed against his skin, the tablets of painkillers resting on the granite countertops of his and Arthur's kitchen.

He's a fucking Avalon Cup champion.

He's supposed to be stronger than this.

His mom used to tell him, "You're so much like your father." And the words would sound like a blessing.

But they don't right now. Like his father, but not like this. Not like this.

* * *

 

**They've done it. Sweet Jesus! The Camelot Knights have dethroned the Serpents!**

 

* * *

 

They got on the plane as soon as they could. Their captain, Elmet King was hoisting their holy grail. He was retiring after this; he'd waited so long for the Cup, to be called a Champion and Balinor wanted his captain's smile etched into his mind forever. Remind yourself, he thought, this is what you fight for, this is what dreams turning into reality looks like. 

On the way home to Camelot, Balinor must have drank six cans of beer and was drenched in two more. Him and Corey were sat together on the plane, high on the adrenaline, on the glory. Two fucking rookies playing with Cup champions, beating them, becoming them. They played four minutes in the 18 minute overtime period, but damn were they four minutes in heaven. 

The venerated hero, Uther Pendragon, scorer of the Cup clinching goal, was the first one off the plane. They were ushered to the bus and then they went back to the Citadel Arena. 

 

* * *

 

_The day after the Camelot Knights won, pictures of a wrecked car surfaced. The charge against Cornelius Sigan, first time major league player and first time Cup champion, was driving under the influence. It was Sigan and Emrys and another teammate, Teodus Nollar, who were all unharmed in the altercation but were nevertheless kept in a holding cell over night for their own safety. Perks of a Champion, Sigan was afforded only 200 hours of community service to repent for his bad choices._

_Killian McDrake, the now-owner of the Knights, but the then-coach was, reportedly, utterly pissed at Sigan's actions and threatened for the termination of his contract with the Knights if he ever pulled another stunt like that again._

_The rumour was, my father said, that McDrake made sure that Sigan's accident was swept under the rug. No one was hurt and so it was easy to sweep away. McDrake and the club management took the blame._

_"We should have made sure he could drive. We should have offered taxi services. We knew they were intoxicated. The fault is ours alone." McDrake said, in a statement the club released the day the media got a hold of the story. With all due respect to McDrake, the media let the story go._

* * *

 

Merlin watches the first trickle of blood from the smallest cut he's ever made. He needs to stop, he wants to stop. He can't.

 

* * *

_Three months after they won the cup, Balinor Emrys, 19, died of an overdose. The details behind his death were unclear and unexplored._

_The question I asked my father was: how come this wasn't in the media? How come we didn't grow up hearing about this?_  

_The answer was: Hunith Emrys didn't want her husband remembered that way, she wanted them to think that he bowed out of the game, not that it led him to this._

_Killian McDrake used all of his power and influence to pull the story from every news outlet then, and Balinor's death remained behind closed doors, mourned by his grieving wife and newborn child._

 

* * *

 

His mom never hid it from him; she said he deserved to know. 

"Your father had everything and still, he was struggling with his demons, and I wanted to preserve his memory. Merlin, please understand, he was mine and he was good. But he was fighting day and night against unforeseeable monsters in his head."

"We weren't enough for him."

"No! That's not it; we were enough, we were everything to him. But his depression was telling him otherwise. He was strong, Merlin, remember that. He loved you above all." 

 

* * *

 

_I had two objectives going into this story: one, to tell everyone about Merlin Emrys and his father, Knights royal lineage; and two, to open the door to a discussion about the seriousness of mental health, especially in the eyes of this game we all love._

_On the 22nd anniversary of his death, the Camelot Knights are honouring their fallen friend at tonight's preseason game._

 

* * *

 

Cornelius Sigan is only 40 years old, but he looks older, like time has worn on him so much. He stands behind a podium looking out into the 20,000 filled seats of the Citadel Arena. It's quiet; everyone's holding their breaths as they wait for him to speak. 

Beside him is a portrait of young Balinor Emrys hoisting the Cup and his newborn child. 

"Vires. Virtus. Mores. Fides," Sigan says solemnly. "As Knights, we've always tried to adhere to these four tenets. These are on our banners, in the locker room, on our jerseys. Some of us exemplify these beliefs more than others, but being a team means that we help each other to be our best. 

"I was 15 years old when I met Bal. We were leading the U-18 tournaments in defensive minutes. We weren't goal scorers but we were a good pair on the blue line. For us, the blue line was always thicker than our blood lines. He was my brother in everything but. And I failed him.

"He needed my help and my faith wavered. He needed a friend and I was not strong or courageous enough.

"Today, I want to give you a picture of a man whose only fault in life was not having a good enough friend, who lacked a sufficient support system. Today, I want you to understand that these four principles are not for one man to exemplify but for this team, as a whole. Strength is what we have when we have others to support us. Courage is knowing that it is okay to fail because there will always be another day to try. Character is doing the right thing, the good thing even when others can condemn you for it. Faith...is trusting yourself to make the hard decisions, to do the right thing, to do good.

"I forgot that. Riding the intoxicating wave of being champions, I forgot that I had a friend who was struggling. You are the defending champions, one day the Cup will belong to another team, but being a champion, that stays with you forever. But I advise you, do not limit being a champion solely on the ice, be a champion in your everyday life. Help someone in need. Empathize. Give. Forgive. Love. Be strong. Have courage. Be a person you will be proud of. Change a life. Save a life, even if it's just yours."

 

* * *

 

Merlin's hand shakes as he washes and puts the knife back in the drawer. He grabs the painkillers and puts them back in the tiny bottle, closing the lid as fast as he can and shutting it in the cupboard with all the medicines. He washes his arm under the tap and grabs a clean cloth, wiping away the rest of the mess on his arm. 

After he manages to bandage himself, he runs upstairs, grabbing his phone from the night table and taps until his finger is hovering over Arthur's name. 

Faith, he thinks, is the most powerful above all. He can do this. This is not a losing battle. This is a bump in the road. 

"Hey, sounds like you're having fun at your dad's. Just call me back when you get this. Arthur...I...just love you. Talk to you soon."

 


	6. History Starts Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place after History follows the leader and before History doesn't let history repeat

 

> Player # POS
> 
> Tristan Archer 78 RW
> 
> Kay Bailey 28 R
> 
> Marshall Bedivere 21 C
> 
> Lucan Butler 15 R
> 
> Owain Chevalier 55 R
> 
> Gareth Constantine 10 RW
> 
> Galahad Corbenic 97 LW
> 
> Jes Dagonet 29 C
> 
> Ector de Maris 60 LW
> 
> Lancelot DuLac 81RW
> 
> Merlin Emrys 86 C
> 
> Percival Gryffin 7 G
> 
> Geraint Guerrier 42 LW
> 
> Dimitri Lamorak 9 RW
> 
> Gwaine LeBlanc 1 G
> 
> Mordred MacDara 88 R
> 
> Leon McKnight 4 L
> 
> Arthur Pendragon 3 LW
> 
> Daniel Ridder 18 L
> 
> Elyan Smith 74 C
> 
> Lionel St. Syr 51 L
> 
> Caradoc St. Tatheus 30 L
> 
>  

 

Merlin finds that skating on empty ice, in an empty arena is far scarier than playing in a game with the roar of the crowd around him. Practice, his first practice without a no-contact jersey, has been over for an hour but Merlin opted to stay behind. Coach Pendragon wordlessly lets him, knowing the call of the ice as well as any player.

 

When Merlin was ten, his mom took him to his first Knights game. It was against the Mercian Blues and the Blues, then at the top of the world, had kicked Camelot’s ass like there was no tomorrow. Merlin remembers his mom’s tight hug after the loss; she was sad, and so was everyone but Merlin wasn’t. He was in awe. A country boy coming to the city for the first time in his life to watch his heroes on the ice; it wasn’t nice to see them lose, but he knew it was only one game, there would be so much more.

 

Playoffs are on the horizon and Merlin reminds himself of the thing he learned eight years ago: one game at a time. 

 

The Knights are seeded second and are almost guaranteed to take on the Essetir Druids in the first round of the playoffs. The Knights have dominated the Druids in every match-up this season. But hubris is a dangerous thing. The Druids have heavy bruisers and fast forwards. They lack a core defence but their goaltender is world-class. The Knights have a young energized core and an experienced defence, and the hottest goaltending team in the league. But they are not without their weaknesses. Merlin is fresh off of an injury. Coach Pendragon can’t decide whether Gwaine or Percy should start for them. Lancelot has just been traded to their team yesterday, untested in battle. They are facing a newly shuffled Druids with the trade deadline behind them. Fortress Stadium in Essetir is ruthless and merciless; it houses the loudest group of fans in the league; every mistake on the ice is intensified by their jeers. Merlin hates playing at Fortress Stadium.

 

Merlin and Arthur are rookies who have been dominating the league so far. The analysts say that they are riding the hot hand of the newly reconstructed and rejuvenated Camelot Knights, excited to put on a show for the home crowd, one they have been lacking for several years. Before the draft even begun, Arthur was being hailed as their saviour, their messiah. And he hasn’t let them down yet, not so gravely for them to denounce him. And they’ve been loving his partnership with Merlin even though Merlin hasn’t played for two months. Arthur is a host in himself; brilliant alone and deadly with Merlin centring him. 

 

Merlin’s always wanted a teammate like that. He and Will used to be able to read each other’s minds and pass like they were the only two people on the ice but he’d never imagine he would get it again: the feeling of certainty that someone will be where he will pass.

 

He didn’t think that they’d ever come this far together though. 

 

The Camelot Herald calls them the dream team: The hot-headed messiah and the diamond in the rough. “Endearingly, of course,” Gwen says. “The fans love you.”

 

In the years before he became draft-eligible, Merlin never wished that Camelot would take him. Sure, if they did, it would make him happy, but all he wanted was to play in the national league. All he wanted was to see the games from a player’s point of view. If he was picked up by the Assassins or the Druids or the Unicorns, it didn’t matter; he just wanted to play. But now standing at centre ice of the Citadel Arena, he can’t imagine being anywhere else in the world. 

 

* * *

 

 

When he finally gets off the ice, probably an hour later than he originally planned, Merlin startles to find Arthur still in the locker room. He’s sitting in his stall, fully dressed in his sweatpants and a hoodie and he’s got earphones on, staring at his phone screen. He must be watching something compelling because he doesn’t look up when Merlin enters. Merlin catches his attention the next moment when he has to get to his own stall. He sits down as Arthur stands up from his. Their stalls are beside each other, something they decided will always be that way, even when they’re playing away games. 

 

“What are you watching?” Merlin asks as he unlaces his skates. Arthur takes off his earphones and like a heathen, Merlin smirks, stuffs them in his pocket that is surely going to entangle them. 

 

Arthur smiles, “The Defenders,” he says. 

 

Merlin rolls his eyes. Arthur’s only allowing himself an episode to watch after every win which they did last night. 

 

“How’s your leg?” Arthur asks, getting on his knee and helping Merlin unlace his other skate as Merlin moves on to taking off the tape around his shins.

 

“I feel good. Ready.”

 

Arthur nods, “Good. Missed you out there. Not the same with Elyan. Don’t get me wrong,” he says, putting his hands up, “I love the guy but.”

 

Merlin laughs, “He’s not me: your perfect boyfriend.”

 

“Okay…since when have you been so egotistic?”

 

Merlin tilts his head, “Hmmm…learned from the best, I guess.”

 

“Shut up,” Arthur warns him and then he reaches to catch Merlin’s lips in a kiss. “Faster so we can go home.” He pulls off Merlin’s skate and puts them in his bag. He helps Merlin take off his jersey and throws it in the bin. When all the pads are off —“Finally! Christ!”— it’s nearly dinner time. They get into Arthur’s car and swings by the Thai place by his house. They have the day off tomorrow and although Merlin knows Arthur isn’t much of a rule-breaker (he’s on a specific rigid diet) Arthur can’t help but give into Merlin’s Thai food craving. 

 

They eat on the couch with Merlin’s legs on top of Arthur’s and the TV showing a movie they’ve seen a billion times. They refuse to watch Sportscentre or any other sports channel. It’s enough to have Coach Pendragon telling them what they’re doing wrong. Analysts and experts just stir the pot. 

 

It hasn’t been the prettiest season but it’s closer to a dream than Merlin can imagine. Finding his place and finding someone; it all seems surreal when he thinks about it. Which is why he tries avoiding that as much as possible. But when he turns in his bed and sees Arthur’s content face, he knows he’s lucky. He knows he’s living his dream.

 

Merlin caresses Arthur’s cheek as he watches Arthur drift off to sleep.

 

Merlin smiles and leans in to kiss Arthur goodnight. 

 

The playoffs are coming; their first ever. He’s ready.

* * *

 

 

Quarter-Finals: Elite Eight

 

2 Camelot Knights vs 7 Essetir Druids

 

Game 1 (Best of 7)

 

Citadel Arena, CM

 

 _ **Final Score:**_  

CM 3 

**ES 5**

 

Essetir Leads 1-0

 

 


	7. History Makes a Mess

Arthur wakes up earlier than necessary and chalks it up to the undisturbed sleep last night. The season has been tiring, between the heavy expectations and the threat of losing his line mate and best friend, it surprises Arthur to find that the most peaceful sleep he’s ever had this season is the one right before a do-or-die Game 7. He wakes up to the smell of a dietician approved breakfast. God, he hasn’t had bacon since forever but now isn’t the time to mess with that. The series against the Druids has not been pretty, not since they stepped on the ice to face them in Game 1. Neither Arthur nor Merlin have ever played playoff hockey before, at least not in the Albion Hockey League so they’re a pair of new foals, but the game doesn’t take that into account. It is no less brutal, no less demanding, than any other game they have ever played. The stakes are just higher. 

 

When he finally gets down to the kitchen, Merlin is sitting there, half naked, sipping on his coffee. Arthur comes up behind him, arm slithering around his shoulders, as he presses a kiss to Merlin’s bed head hair. Merlin hums, putting his mug down and turning in his seat to circle his arms around Arthur’s equally naked torso. His head settles against Arthur’s chest where he can no doubt hear the steady rhythm of his heart. The calm before the storm, Arthur relishes in it.

 

“Mornin’.” Merlin mumbles against Arthur’s skin, kissing where his heart beats. Arthur runs his fingers through Merlin’s hair, massaging his scalp, distracting him so he can get to the coffee.

 

“Generous of you to make only one.” He says sarcastically. Merlin lets him go and takes his mug back from Arthur before he can sip at it.

 

“You’re a big boy. You can make your own.”

 

Arthur crosses his arms in fake petulance but goes over to the coffee machine and grabs a mug from the cupboard. 

 

Breakfast is ready and is waiting for him on the counter. He takes it, grabs a fork, and sits on the stool next to Merlin who looks like he’s already done eating.

 

“Watcha reading?” Arthur asks before he shoves a forkful of chicken and vegetables.

 

“There’s a letter in the newspaper. For us —the Knights, I mean.”

 

Merlin hands over the page where the letter from the readers section is.

 

It says:

 

_To the Camelot Knights, the general air around the city is optimistic. It roars with joy to see you boys pick yourselves up when the going gets tough. You have fought valiantly this season and have shown us what perseverance looks like. It’s not just coming back from a 3-1 deficit to tie the series and force a Game 7; it’s shooting the puck when there’s no energy left, it’s the relentless fore-and-back checking until time runs out, it’s the belief in your goalies and in each other when plays seem to be ripping apart at the seams, it’s your camaraderie and accountability to each other. The city is proud of you whether you win or lose tonight. We will never be defined by how we fall, it’s how we rise after that determines the kind of people we are. Thank you and Good luck._

 

“Are you crying?” Merlin asks, stifling a laugh as Arthur sniffles while he shoves another forkful in his mouth. 

 

“Shut up; I love this city.”

 

Arthur is a Camelot boy through and through; born and raised. This city has given so much to him, he thinks it’s time to give something back. If it’s not the Cup, then it’ll be hope for a next season, a hope for a next chance. 

 

Merlin kisses Arthur’s cheek. “It loves you too. And so do I.”

 

* * *

 

 

Quarter-Finals: Elite Eight

 

2 Camelot Knights vs 7 Essetir Druids

 

Game 7 (Best of 7)

 

Citadel Arena, CM

 

**Series tied 3-3**

 

Citadel Arena is full of life; thunderous applause fill the air as they take the ice. The Druids are looking half haggard and half determined. The Knights feel like fire, ignited by the support of the city. 

 

The crowd keeps up their cheering before and after the puck drops.

 

Camelot is playing in red tonight. Gwaine LeBlanc gets the start. The Emrys-Pendragon-duLac line starts, Merlin takes his place on the face-off. He shoots Lance a look, and glances at Arthur. He stares down the Essetir centre before him. Off the draw, Merlin passes the puck off to Arthur who skates down the ice into their offensive zone. Puck movement is key; Arthur passes it back to Leon at the blue line. A heavy sigh of relief washes over the crowd as Leon cradles the puck just inside the blue line, immediately he passes it off laterally to Mordred. Merlin is in front of the net, blocking the Essetir goalie from seeing the puck. Mordred and Lance connect, Lance shoots and the loud ping against the post deafens the crowd. The puck is still loose; Arthur is on the other side, puck on his stick, passes again to Leon. The same cycle, the same play but this time, Merlin screens better and Lance doesn’t miss.

 

The horn blows. The Knights gather around Lance as they celebrate. 

 

Much of the first period is heavy with hits and fast with transitions. The Knights win the draws and Essetir is left playing catch-up. When the horn sounds for the end of first, the score is still 1-0 Camelot. 

 

Coach Pendragon is silent in the locker room; his silence says everything. Puck movement. Back-check. Fore-check. Don’t let the game play you. Play the motherfucking game. 

 

The Druids come out firing in the second period, bombards Gwaine with seven shots in the first three minutes. But he remains steadfast and headstrong. No rebounds. Merlin wins the draw, the puck goes to Mordred, aside from Arthur and Merlin, he’s the next fastest skater on the team. He heads the attack, leaves his defenders in his wake. They don’t mean it, but the Knights end up attacking the offensive zone in a flying V formation which the crowd eats up. Inside the blue line, Mordred goes straight behind the net, passes it up to Lance, Lance to Merlin but the Druids intercept the pass to Leon. They skate back but the Druids are on a different level than last period. They shoot and Gwaine stretches his glove hand, feels the puck in his cradle. The referee blows his whistle. 

 

The second line comes on but not before Arthur gets a chance to leave a little love tap on Gwaine’s helmet. Sorry and thank you.

 

Half-way through the second period, an icing call leaves Camelot’s fourth line on the ice. Tired, they try to battle against a newly rested Essetir first line. Ridder and Chevalier get caught defending one man and misses the other coming down from the other side. An inch to the right and they would have missed. But lucky for the Druids, the shot makes it in the net, sliding just past the blade of Gwaine’s skate. A collective groan rises in the crowd.

 

The second period ends in a tie.

 

The morale in the locker room is split. This time, Coach Pendragon has some words for them, but it’s a practiced speech they’ve all heard before. On the ice, Coach Pendragon is a mastermind but he isn’t one for words. He turns it over Arthur, who as a rookie not only impressively snagged the captaincy but the respect of the veterans on the team. 

 

“It’s simple. We win here tonight and go onto the semis. Or we lose and get a start on our summer. I, for one, am not ready to end this year here. So I say we go out there and we play, and we fight. And whatever happens, win or lose, we get back up.”

 

In the end, with a minute left, with overtime looming over their heads, the Druids, on a filthy play, a garbage goal, take the lead. The fans in the stands shout their displeasure against the Druids and against the refs but there’s nothing they can do. The score is 2-1 Essetir and there is 54 seconds left in the game. Merlin wins the draw, sees Arthur race down the ice with the puck, and in that half a second, watching Arthur with the puck, skating to where he should be, Merlin misses the body that checks him. He goes down hard on the ice. His knee cracks at the contact, his bad knee, his newly healed knee. The puck is in the offensive zone and the refs delay the call until the Druids touch the puck again. A two minute minor is awarded to the guy who checked Merlin but there’s only 40 seconds left on the clock. 

 

For the first time that night, the arena is dead silent.

 

Merlin clutches at his knee and knows this is a battle they’ve lost. 40 seconds isn’t enough time, not without Merlin and Arthur both on the ice. They give him space as the team doctor comes over. Somewhere around him, he can hear Arthur’s voice, pissed off at the Druids but unquestionably desperate as he pleads for Merlin’s health. 

 

Merlin nods absent-mindedly as the doctor talks to him, makes him rate his pain. He has to get up, he has to leave the ice. The doctor is still talking in his ear but Merlin looks around and finds Arthur’s eyes. Immediately, Arthur is in front of him, gloveless hand stretched out to Merlin. Merlin tosses his gloves off too. 

 

“We get up,” Merlin says through his teeth and his pain, and clutches at Arthur’s hand. The pain is almost unbearable. On one leg, he skates across the ice supported by Arthur’s body. The guys on the bench take over and then the rest of the medical team take him down the tunnel.

 

They fight until the horn blows and the Druids celebrate their victory. 

 

“We get up,” Arthur repeats to his team, to the boys on the bench. They stand and stumble into the ice, into the handshake line. 

 

The Essetir Druids advance to the semi-finals.

 

The Camelot Knights end their season.

 

But as Arthur runs down the tunnel into the medical room, sees Merlin there fighting against the pain he’s experiencing, he knows it isn’t over. This season, maybe. But there’s always the next one.

 

Arthur kisses him, hard and desperate, like the way they played tonight. Merlin responds in kind, finding Arthur’s hand and slipping his fingers between Arthur’s. Tonight is not a happy ending, losses rarely are. But even inside the medical room, Arthur can hear the crowd in the stands, how they resumed their cheering even when their team lost. It’s that, and this. The way Merlin looks at him like there’s nothing out there that can keep them down. 

 

“Not yet, not too soon, not until you’re ready. But we get up and we fight and we win.” Merlin says, echoing the words of a legend.

 

“She would have been so proud of you.”

 

“Of us.” Arthur corrects and kisses Merlin again. Vires. Virtus. Mores. Fides. Faith, they are full of it, brimming with it. Tonight they wallow in misery because of the loss. But tomorrow is a new day. 

 


	8. History Doesn't Stay Down

The Players’ Publication || Arthur Pendragon: A Letter To My Younger Self

 

Dear 16 year old Self,

 

Mom has just passed away.

 

It will seem like the world is out of place for a while, but the Tintagel Phoenix will understand your loss. You will play for them until you are eligible for the draft.

 

You will be the only Phoenix in Tintagel in history to earn a point in every game for a whole season. You will dedicate each goal to Mom, because you would not be here without her. You will be drafted first by the Camelot Knights; the team you’ve always dreamed of playing for. Your father will shake your hand and he will give you your jersey and he will say he is proud of you. You should tell him you would not be here without him either.

 

You will lead the team in scoring. You will win the Rookie of the Year award. You will not win the Avalon Cup in your first year in the AHL. You will fall short of expectations.

 

But.

 

This loss will not define you, because in your first year in the AHL, you will learn to adapt. You will learn how to play for a center who is faster than you, you will learn to keep up instead of always leading the charge. You will learn you do not always have to lead the charge. Most importantly, you will learn that you are not alone. There’s no need to carry the world on your shoulders.

 

There’s more.

 

The Knights will draft a boy who is a force to be reckoned with. You will butt heads, you will fight each other, and you will make each other better. Trust in him.

 

There are more lessons to learn. There is more hockey to play; do not give up.

 

With love, Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, sorry


	9. History Doesn't Quit

Merlin’s childhood home in Ealdor is a three-minute walk away from a pond that freezes over in the winter. It is a spectacular sight of ice and frost. It is where Merlin first learns how to skate. He is four the first time he steps out onto the frozen pond. In another lifetime, it would have been Balinor who held his arms and taught him how to glide across the ice but as it is, Hunith is the one helping her son across the ice, holding him until he finds his rhythm. She’s not a bad skater herself, so Merlin learns quickly from his mother how to get up and try again when he falls. Eventually, he stops falling and learns other things. He is five when he meets Will and his hockey team, and Merlin begs his mother to get him into the hockey program.

 

At eight, Merlin learns how to snipe a shot and he outshines most of the boys on the team. Will shows him to push power through his body, how to be balanced. Will who is two years older stands up for him when he is pushed down and made fun of.

 

“You’re good,” Will says, “very good.”

 

Merlin is twelve when Hunith shows him the photo album of Balinor Emrys’ hockey career. She says he was wonderful, like a comet across the ice, fast and bright and unforgettable. She says he gets his speed and his passion from his father. The other things he learns from Will and his coaches.

 

When Will dies right before Christmas, Merlin quits playing hockey for a year. It is too much for a fifteen year old to bear the loss of his truest friend. Merlin thinks hockey is taking too many people away from him and asks his mother to give away all his gear and his skates. She doesn’t and when he comes back to play the game a year later, she thanks the lord that they still fit him. He gets back on the ice, on a team, and scores as many goals as he can for the memory of his best friend. Will had taken his life because he couldn’t play hockey anymore; Merlin will cherish playing because it was what Will wanted the most. He wasn’t going to waste his opportunities; he hopes Will is watching from wherever he is, he hopes Will is proud of him when the scouts come to watch him play, when he gets invited to the draft combine, when he gets drafted in the sixth round by his father’s team.

 

Uther Pendragon clasps his hand in a tight handshake and leans in, pats Merlin’s shoulder and says: “Your father was a great teammate. He’d be proud of you.” Merlin barely registers the flashes of the cameras and doesn’t realize how fast he rushes off the stage. No one has ever said anything about his father ever since he started being scouted; he didn’t think people remembered his father. But here was Uther Pendragon, who knew his father, and played with him. Merlin is the legacy of a man he barely knows, a man people barely know existed. He feels like he is drowning in the Camelot jersey and feels flushed out by the millions of cameras and feels small in a crowd of hundreds. He tries catching his breath and finds himself face to face with Killian McDrake.

 

“Welcome to the team, young Emrys,” McDrake says and Merlin immediately brightens. He’s on a fucking honest-to-god AHL team; he’s on his way to play for the Camelot Knights.

 

“It’s a great honour, sir.”

 

McDrake levels him with a sincere look, and then his eyes sweep away from Merlin to something else and then back. “You will both be great,” he declares and then he is gone from Merlin’s view. One of the PR ladies find Merlin and he is shuffled in front of cameras and in front of the press and in a big conference room where the other Knights draftees are milling around.

 

That night, he takes a deep steady breath and calls his mother. Hunith cries on the other end of the line and repeats over and over how proud she is, how much she loves her. Merlin thanks her with an endless gratitude for raising him even when it was hard, and for being there with him always even when they can’t afford the plane ticket for her to come watch her son be drafted. He promises her that he’ll get her a ticket to his first AHL game, to his first game as a Camelot Knight. He looks out the window and tilts his head up to the sky and tells Will that he is nervous and excited all at once. He tells Will that he wishes he was here with him, that he’ll play his best every game for him.

 

“I miss you so much,” Merlin says and feels hot tears running down his face. In the sky, a shooting star streaks across the darkness.

 

Merlin works harder than he has ever worked in his whole life when training camps starts. Gwaine LeBlanc hits on him the first day of camp and Merlin laughs at his every attempt to flirt. It becomes easier from then on because he isn’t so lonely. He gets a friend in Gwaine, and then with Gwaine comes Percy and Lance. Merlin gets more comfortable, gets rid of the nerves, and starts playing like the boy they believed in.

 

There are so many people in training camp, a process to weed out who will be worthy of a position on the Knights or who will go down to the minors. There are so many players and still, Arthur Pendragon shines brighter than all of them. Merlin is stunned the first time he sees Arthur on the ice. He is not quiet; he is joking with the older guys and helping his fellow draftees. Merlin forgets that him and Arthur are basically the same age; that they were drafted in the same year. Everyone can tell that Arthur Pendragon is a Camelot Knight already even though he is wearing the same blank jersey as Merlin. Everyone is in awe of Arthur and why shouldn’t they be? He’s fast and strong, with a killer shot and a beast of an instinct. He’s the prodigal son.

 

Uther Pendragon doesn’t put them on the same line at all during training camp and Merlin wonders if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. At the end of training camp, he’s prepared to be sent down to the minors but silently, he prays that he’ll have his shot at the pros.

 

Turns out, Merlin has nothing to worry about because he makes the roster, and on their first official game, Coach Pendragon puts Arthur and Lance on Merlin’s wings.

 

It’s a fucking shit show. Merlin misses Arthur’s sweet pass and the other team scores. Arthur calls his a fucking idiot but Merlin doesn’t back down; filled with adrenaline, he bites back, “You’re an asshole.”

 

The next time they play together, it’s fucking beautiful.

 

“I’m sorry for the other day,” Arthur tells him when they win the game and Merlin nods back.

 

“Me too.”

 

In December, Merlin goes off the rails the last game before Christmas because he just can’t seem to catch a break. He just needs a goal, just one goal, even if it’s a garbage redirect; he needs it to honour Will.

 

Merlin didn’t think anyone would care. He was sure Coach Pendragon was going to pull him aside and reprimand him, tell him to get his head in the game, or worse, bench him. Merlin didn’t think Arthur of all people would notice. But suddenly Arthur is there, grabbing Merlin’s tired trembling hands. Merlin lets it spill then and there, tells Arthur how he badly needs a goal for Will and Arthur nods, understands the need. Merlin has never told anyone before but Arthur is his line mate and the only person capable of making this happen.

 

In overtime, Arthur sets him up with a beauty of a pass and Merlin’s shot makes it in top shelf, just in the seam between the crossbar and the goalie’s glove.

 

In January, they get a break. Four straight days without a game so they all end up at Gwaine’s place. Merlin doesn’t want to get drunk but he grabs a beer or two and sits on the couch next to Lance and they talk of nothing until Gwaine comes and drags Lance away, shouting drunkenly about dancing or swimming or other. As soon as it is vacated, the seat beside Merlin is filled again. He doesn’t expect it to be Arthur but there he is, the golden boy. Merlin feels his cheeks redden and suddenly the beer bottle in his hand is a great comfort. Arthur reaches for his hand but Merlin takes it back. The room is dark but Merlin feels exposed, like every pair of eyes is on him even though the only one looking at him is Arthur. Arthur’s attention feels like that sometimes, as if the whole world is staring at him. Merlin feels warm and nervous and he hasn’t told anyone about how he feels about Arthur.

 

They are undeniably amazing together on the ice. Merlin feels like Arthur can read his mind and Arthur can read his. They rarely miss each other’s passes now, and they always somehow find each other on the ice like they’re the only ones playing. Everything around Merlin becomes a blur, the crowd becomes quiet, the nerves settle when he sees Arthur skating with him, when he feels him rushing by him on the ice.

 

The same feeling envelops him now. Gwaine’s music fades away, the other guys seem to disappear out of sight, and Arthur is a bright oasis. The next thing Merlin knows is that Arthur’s lips is against his. Merlin doesn’t believe it’s real for a second until Arthur kisses him again, rougher and harder and then Merlin pushes him away because Arthur is drunk and it can’t be real.

 

Merlin pushes against him and Arthur stands and starts to walk away. Merlin doesn’t know what just happened; he’s so confused that he stops talking to Arthur.

 

He doesn’t talk to Arthur when game day comes around; and they start playing like shit. Arthur sends him texts and Merlin feels like shit but he can’t seem to reply; he doesn’t know what to say. But then their game suffers more and Coach Pendragon glares at the two of them and Merlin realizes a confrontation is necessary.

 

Arthur is sitting by his stall and Merlin has never seen him look so dejected and lost. Arthur is the golden boy but Merlin realizes that is something everyone else who doesn’t know call him. They forget Arthur is an 18 year old boy who is still figuring himself out even if he looks like a star on the ice. They forget Arthur is human and can fail. Merlin forgets it too sometimes. He walks over to where Arthur is sitting and sits by him, taking his hands, stopping Arthur from playing with the ring on his finger. Arthur’s hands are warm.

 

“We sucked tonight.”

 

“We’ve been sucking for a while.”

 

“Ever since the night we…” The truth is that Merlin wanted that too, even if Arthur instigated it; he’d wanted to kiss him back so bad.

 

“Shit,” Arthur says, like he regrets it.

 

“Was it that bad kissing me? Was it because you were drunk?”

 

“Fuck yeah, it was because I was drunk. I didn’t want to be drunk the first time I kiss you.”

 

Merlin is 18 but he’s not stupid; and he’s not about to hide his feelings anymore. Virtus. Courage, Merlin thinks. Everything done with courage should be done right. So Merlin takes a deep breath and squeezes Arthur’s hand. He looks into his blue eyes.

 

“Shit,” Merlin sighs. “I’m kind of gone for you, prat. Didn’t really matter if you were drunk or not. I just want to do it again.”

 

So they do it again, the next day, celebrating a win. Arthur grabs Merlin’s face and kisses him in front of God and the entire universe.

 

Out of some karmic comeuppance or just plain bad luck, Merlin gets injured the game after that. An enforcer whose specific goal in the game is to hurt either Merlin or Arthur takes out Merlin from his feet. The guy gets low enough to send Merlin flying off of him and Merlin is airborne and then lands on his fucking knee. The pain sears through him and he doesn’t remember screaming but he thinks he does because that’s the only sound in the arena. The crowd is stunned; the Knights lose the game and before Merlin can blame himself, Arthur is there, clinging onto his hands.

 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispers, “I didn’t see him, I couldn’t--”

 

Merlin shushes him because if Merlin can’t blame himself, Arthur can’t either. There’s nothing they can do but wait for Merlin to recover. He spends his days in Arthur’s apartment even though Arthur isn’t there the whole time. The Knights send a physical therapist there to help Merlin recover.

 

Merlin wakes up one day to Arthur’s face hovering over his head. He’s smiling like a dumbass so Merlin rubs his eyes awake to see what’s going on. Arthur leans down to kiss his forehead and then his cheeks and then his lips.

 

In the softest voice Merlin has ever heard Arthur speak in, he says, “He made me captain.”

 

The Knights did not have a captain this season because Coach Pendragon didn’t think anyone was worthy. The Knights hadn’t been making the playoffs for some time.

 

“That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

 

Arthur blushes and buries his face in Merlin’s neck, mutters, “Thanks, baby.”

 

They spend the day off in bed even though Merlin can’t move. They stay there talking about the future and the past; Arthur’s mom and how proud she’d be of him. There is so much on Arthur’s shoulders: his mother’s legacy, his father’s career. Merlin reaches over and intertwines his hand with Arthur’s.

 

“You have me, okay? No matter what. If you feel like you’re going to break down from all the pressure, I’m here for you.”

 

Merlin doesn’t want hockey to take anyone else away from him.

 


	10. History Takes Patience Pt. 1

In February, Gwaine not-so-silently suggests to Merlin a couple of suggestions for Valentine’s Day. They’re cheesy at best and cringey at worst, ranging from romantic dinners to some convoluted fuck-on-the-ice-for-good-luck bullshit. Merlin is recuperating at home in Camelot, watching the game on TV from his spot in the living room. His leg is propped up and he can hear his mother in the kitchen. The TV is on mute for now while the second intermission is happening but he’s on his phone checking Gwaine’s crazy messages. He hopes Arthur gives Gwaine trouble over texting during game time.

 

Nevertheless, Gwaine’s curiosity is well-intentioned; he is the only one brave enough to ask what Arthur and Merlin have planned for Valentine’s Day.

 

To be honest, for a couple who has three days left before Valentine’s Day, Merlin and Arthur have not yet talked about what they’re going to do. Merlin has some ideas, but nothing is fortified in his brain yet. How do you give someone like Arthur Pendragon a Valentine he can never forget?

 

After intermission, the Knights go back on the ice and their five-goal lead increases until they are up ten to one against the Othanden Griffins. They shut down Othanden Arena, sending the fans home in sour moods but Merlin doesn’t think the Knights could care less. Not that the Griffins are their arch-nemesis or anything but the win is a good morale booster, especially since one of their star players is injured.

 

Merlin is practically beat from staying up to watch the game so he heads to bed as soon as possible and wakes up to three text messages from Arthur and one from Gwaine. Gwaine sends him several eggplant emojis and Merlin doesn’t even reply back to that. Arthur asks how he’s holding up and asks if he can come by today seeing as they don’t have practice or anything. The last text is also an eggplant emoji which he laughs at and definitely replies to.

 

Somewhere around noon, while Merlin is on the couch, strategically placed for optimal comfort, his mom answers the door and lets Arthur in. Something swirls in Merlin’s stomach when he sees Arthur greeting Hunith with a big warm hug, and presenting her with a bouquet of hydrangeas. She nearly cries, Merlin can tell. She takes him in for another hug and Arthur’s pale face turns just a tinge pink. Merlin bites down a smile.

 

“I’m just gonna put these in a vase,” Hunith says and then never returns again to give them space.

 

Arthur takes a seat on the recliner because Merlin is taking up the whole couch. He gets back up again and when he’s sure Hunith isn’t about to interrupt them, he holds Merlin’s face between his cold fucking hands and kisses him deeply like he’s been starving for it. Merlin can admit he has been starving for it too. His hands come up and cup Arthur’s cold cheeks to deepen the kiss between them.

 

When they part, Arthur sits back on the recliner. Someone has to bring up Valentine’s Day and as much as Merlin likes seeing Arthur silently awkwardly look around the room, he wants to broach the subject even more.

 

“So Gwaine’s been texting me some Valentine’s ideas.”

 

Arthur squints at him, “We’re not fucking on the ice.”

 

Merlin laughs, “Of course not, prat!”

 

Arthur puts his hands up on the defense, “Just saying.”

 

“So…”

 

Arthur sighs, “I can’t exactly take you anywhere, can I?” Arthur discreetly points to Merlin’s huge cast.

 

Dejected, Merlin says, “So we’re not gonna do anything…”

 

Before he can definitively finish his whining, Arthur gets up again and looms over Merlin. He leans down, starts talking, voice soft, “Can I take you to my house? Cook you dinner there?”

 

The swirling butterfly feelings in Merlin’s stomach comes back in full force and he grabs Arthur again to kiss him. “Yes, please.”

 

On February 14, Merlin finds himself sitting in the Arthur’s dining room eating a candle-lit homemade dinner. It’s not a five-star hotel but that makes no difference to Merlin. He’s so happy he forgets every doubt that’s been creeping up on him. He forgets that he has nightmares he’ll never recover, and forgets that he’s 18 and so much more worse things could happen. Arthur smiles at him and Merlin forgets every and any doubt. He hopes it stays like that forever; he hopes Arthur’s mere presence can always alleviate any hardship or tribulation Merlin faces.

 

After dinner, Arthur brings them to the living room and when they’re comfortable, he takes out a box from under the coffee table and hands it to Merlin.

 

When Merlin opens it and sees the little notebook inside, at first he doesn’t know what is happening. He opens the notebook and sees drawings of young Arthur playing hockey, playing in the park, many many pages filled with sketches and drawings of Arthur up until he is 16 years old. On one page, near the end, there’s one where Arthur’s face is long and sad. Ygraine Pendragon’s writing is in cursive, impeccable lines and swooping curves. She had written: _Remember to play for yourself, because it makes you happy, because you love it. The moment you feel like it’s not fun anymore, or it doesn’t make you happy anymore, then you walk away. You do not owe this game anything; it is privileged to have you play it. I have loved playing this game for as long as I can remember and I used to say, I would not have met your father without it. That may be true, but you...my darling boy...you were going to be mine any way the world spun. I love you with all my heart. I am proud of you when you win, when you lose. Always and every day after that._

 

Merlin hopes the tears building up in his eyes don’t spill over. He turns the pages until the last. There is a drawing of Arthur wearing the Tintagel Phoenix jersey, smiling bright as the sun. She had captured Arthur in the best way possible, all of his goodness and joy alive on the page.

 

Here she had written: _Forget the medals and all the glory, my greatest accomplishment was raising you to be brave and selfless and respectful. I hope you do not lose yourself once I am gone. My darling boy, if you ever find that the weight of the world is too heavy on your shoulders, promise me that you will breathe and sit and think. Take a moment for yourself and reflect on what you want, what is worth it, what makes you happy. And then, because you are stronger than you know, you get up. Not yet, not too soon, not until you are ready. But you get up._

 

Merlin’s tears spill over and when he glances at Arthur, he is wiping away tears from his face. Ygraine’s words are beautiful and powerful and they have obviously been impacting Arthur and how he lives his life. Merlin’s heart stutters. Arthur is bringing Merlin in into Ygraine’s private life. He bets no one has ever seen this notebook before. It is specifically for Arthur, made by his mother in the last two years of her life. This is his strongest connection back to her; even now as she is gone, she still guides him through life.

 

Arthur doesn’t say anything but he takes the notebook back and places it in the box carefully. Merlin wipes his face, blubbering as he reaches to hug Arthur.

 

“I just got you something stupid. I feel like an idiot.”

 

Arthur’s arms come up to hug him, “Hey, don’t do that to yourself. If you think I’ll love it then it’s great.” Merlin chuckles. Arthur is so good, so good to him.

 

“No, really. It’s dumb.”

 

Arthur shushes him, “That wasn’t actually the gift. Or I should explain.” He takes out something from his pocket and hands it over. While Merlin unwraps it, Arthur begins, “Remember when you told me about Will, about your December goal? You opened up to me and I wanted to do the same for you. My life so far has already been written by sports journalists and gossip bloggers. But they don’t get everything. Some things I keep to myself, like her notebook. But I thought, if there was one person I could let see her the way I saw her. You lent me your mom when I missed mine. So I wanted to share mine with you.” He takes the token from Merlin’s hands. “She said this was her lucky charm, brought her to the worlds, to the Olympics. I’ve had it since she died and it brought me to you. I want you to have it now, so your recovery goes well, so I can have you back on the ice, so we can make sweet magic together.”

 

The distance between them disappears.

 

“I love you,” Merlin whispers against Arthur’s mouth.

 

Merlin tucks the token into his pocket. He feels apprehensive because Arthur has given him his fucking heart and Merlin’s here with a fucking…Jesus why’d he fucking listen to Gwaine.

 

Arthur’s eyes light up and sends him a mischievous smirk as Merlin starts pulling down the hem of his joggers. (He ended up wearing joggers because trying to put on jeans while being in a cast was a bitch, and anyway Arthur didn’t mind.)

 

Arthur gives a low whistle as Merlin exposes his left hip.

 

“Holy shit!” Fuck, Merlin hangs his head, he definitely should not have listened to Gwaine.

 

Arthur gapes at him, eyes darting back and forth from Merlin’s face to the small “AP”, followed by a small outline of a dragon tattooed on Merlin’s hip.

 

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot, Merlin.”

 

Merlin’s face heats up. “Ugh. I got it yesterday when you were at practice.”

 

Arthur takes Merlin’s hands in his, “What? You regret it?”

 

Merlin shakes his head, “Yours is so romantic and I just showed you a fucking tramp stamp.”

 

Arthur’s laugh is loud and reassuring, “I fucking love it. Should I get one?”

 

“Do not get my fucking initials tattooed on you, Pendragon. Don’t even think about it.”

 

“I should though.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“No, I want to. I’ll get one. I won’t tell you what it is though.” Arthur kisses the whole of his face and then shimmies down until he’s face to hip. He kisses around the ink. He says, against Merlin’s skin, “I love you too.”

 

Merlin’s heart soars; it’s been a perfect day. He loves this boy so much; he wants to be with him forever.

 

Arthur sticks by him through his injury and his PT and when Agravaine threatens to trade him.

 

When Merlin comes back on the ice, fully recovered, Arthur welcomes him back with a hat-trick and then in the privacy of their hotel room, he licks the ink on Merlin's skin and then proceed to give Merlin the best goddamn blowjob Merlin’s ever had.

 

They make the playoffs, and then they lose. All of Merlin’s hard work of getting better and recovering from his knee injury disappears with their chance of winning the Avalon Cup.

 

When Merlin’s knee hits the ice, every painful memory from four months ago comes back and the four months of recovery disappears. The whole place wails as silently as he does. The next significant sound is the Druids celebrating but Merlin’s mind doesn’t register it. Between his knee hitting the ice and waiting for the clock to run down, sitting in the medical room being assessed, Merlin’s mind is flooded with failure and sadness and regret. His face drowns in sweat and tears. One year in the AHL is not enough for him; 18 is too young to retire. Merlin takes a deep breath as he hears the booming sound of the fans in their seats chanting their names, thanking them for an exhilarating season. He can hear the sticks against the ice and he knows by the way the fans clap harder that the sticks are raised in thanks to them. His career will not end here; there’s too much hockey to play still.

 

He thinks, as he sees Arthur come into the room, hand extended to clasp at Merlin’s, that there is a veritable future, that they will come back better next season. Merlin sees him and knows as he knows that hockey is an inextricable part of his life, so to is Arthur.

 

And so he reaches for Arthur’s hand and repeats the words that Ygraine Pendragon has taught Arthur growing up, the words that Arthur has passed on to Merlin and to the team.

 

“We get up.”

 

Arthur’s face softens when Merlin says it. “Not yet, not too soon, not until you’re ready. But we get up and we fight and we win.” Arthur says, echoing the words of the greatest woman he will ever know.

 

It’s a shame Merlin never knew Ygraine Pendragon, will never meet her but when he looks at Arthur, Merlin knows that people may say that Ygraine Pendragon’s legacy is the gold medal for Albion, but it’s really Arthur, this boy in front of him who is the best player Merlin has ever played with and the kindest leader Merlin has ever followed. Ygraine Pendragon would be proud of her son, of the person Merlin loves because why wouldn’t she be? In another world or another lifetime, Merlin can see an Arthur Pendragon who showboats on the ice, who gets mad at others for not performing at his pace, who would sacrifice everything, even his health, to get back on the ice and win, an Arthur who wouldn’t accept loss. But in the life and in this world, Merlin is thankful for the Arthur Pendragon who holds his hands and kisses him on the ice, who lets his make mistakes and helps him correct them, who has a kind word for every loss and an amazing speech for every win.

 

Merlin knows this is not the end; there is more hockey to play but recovering is his first priority.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw i added a paragraph to chap 9 lol  
> also @ brunettepet and ioncereadastory, your comments keep this going tbh so thank you <3


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